Teresa Mummert: Pretty Little Things

I watched as Taylor’s hand came down hard across Marie’s cheek, and the sound of her grunt echoed in the large room as she fell to her side, catching herself on her hip and hands. Her strawberry blond hair covered her tear-soaked face. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat as he looked over at me. “Disobedience will not be tolerated.” I nodded and watched the girl, a few years older than me but half my size, lie helpless and sobbing on the floor. It was a scenario I’d seen play out dozens of times. It no longer fazed me. It was the way things were. Every story was different and the same. This girl was a runaway who prostituted herself out in order to score drugs. I didn’t know why Taylor even bothered bringing her in, but she fit the profile—blond hair and green eyes laced with flecks of gold—and he was becoming desperate to bring validity to his visions. The church was growing restless .

You either accepted the rules or you were beaten into submission, and Taylor was very creative with his punishments. I carried the scars on my flesh to prove it. “Pay close attention, boy.”

I nodded once and waited. He grabbed Marie’s arm and jerked her to her feet, giving her a second to regain her balance. I was sure that by morning her hip would be bruised, and simple acts such as walking would be difficult .

At fourteen, I was now being taught the inner workings of the church in order to prepare me for the day I would take Taylor’s place. All encounters were videotaped for church records, something I never batted an eye at because it was just the way it was. To say my upbringing was unconventional was an understatement. The Descendants of God was a country-wide organization, and I was living at the epicenter and learning directly from our founder himself, Taylor Woodward .

He unfastened his belt as Marie wrapped her arms around her waist, sobs ripping from her chest .

“Don’t hit me.” Her pleading fell on deaf ears. I was no longer swayed by other people’s pain. My empathy had long evaporated with every scar I received. Bad things didn’t just happen to bad people. This was a fact .

He reached out and ran his thumb over her cheek to wipe away her tears. “Shh, I wasn’t going to hit you. Praying isn’t the only thing you will do on your knees around here.” Her gaze fell lower, and she watched as he undid his pants. I glanced at the red light on the camera that sat in the corner of the room atop a tripod and kept my expression unreadable, not wanting Taylor to see how much this still bothered me when he reviewed the tape. The only thing worse than the depraved acts I was forced to witness was having our leader deem me useless. I’d seen what happened to those who didn’t conform, and I wasn’t ready to meet my maker .

I awoke to my mattress being nudged. My eyes flew open, and I stared up at Annie’s messy, wild hair from a night of restless sleep. She was wearing one of my white undershirts, and it fell to midthigh. Mascara was smudged under her eyes from a late night.

“What’s wrong?” I groaned as I blinked back the harsh sunlight that poured through my window. Annie’s blurry image slowly came into focus. She held out a bottle of water and two pills in the other hand. I grabbed my covers and pulled them up, suddenly realizing it was morning and I was only in my underwear. The evidence of my twisted, fucked-up past was painfully hard, and control was something I lacked when I needed release. “Fuck, you could have knocked,” I snapped.

“You could close your door if you want me to knock.” She laughed as she set the bottle of water on my bare chest. The cold made me jump, and I sat up, my head thumping with the sudden movement. “Here.”

I held out my hand, and she dropped the pills into my palm before tucking her hair behind her ear and sitting down on the edge of my bed with one leg tucked under her.

I swallowed them down and drank the bottle of water in one long sip. Her eyebrow rose as she watched me and shook her head. I rubbed the heels of my hands over my eyes and looked over at her, taking in the purpling of her cheekbone on her otherwise perfect porcelain skin.

“Shit,” I groaned and reached out to run the pad of my finger over the mark, but she pulled back and swatted my hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m fine.” Just like that she shrugged it off as if it had never happened. Had her face not bore the mark of the encounter, it would have been erased from her memory entirely. That was what I envied about Annabel. She could block out anything that caused her pain and live in a bubble of contentment. That was why our new life suited her so well. She was a chameleon with a self-imposed dementia.

I shook my head as I sat up farther and ran my hand over the ridges of my abdominal muscles. “Is Grace making breakfast?”

Annie snorted and then laughed at herself. “She did an hour ago.”

I groaned, and she rolled her eyes.

“I woke up late too. I had her save our plates, but you may want to get dressed. Amanda stopped by. You’re welcome.” She grinned and pushed from the bed.

“Fuck.” I fell back and pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes as she left the room. I felt like shit, and I probably looked worse. “Take off my damn shirt,” I yelled after her.

I pushed from my bed, glancing at the full-length mirror on the opposing wall. Working out had become one of the few ways to deal with my growing aggression, and the results were proof that I harbored a lot of rage. My muscles were cut, and I barely had any excess fat, but I still wanted to be bigger, stronger. I was glad my scars only marred my back, and I wasn’t forced to look at the physical manifestation of my sins and my early reluctance to obey Taylor.

I turned on the radio and sang along to “Outside” by Staind as I shoved down my boxer briefs, kicking them off on the floor. I made my way into my bathroom, turning on the light above the sink but leaving the one in the shower stall off to spare myself the harsh light. The water didn’t take long to heat up, and I slid under the spray, closing the fogged glass door behind me.

I dumped liquid body wash in the palm of my hand and rubbed the soap over my chest and down my stomach as I begged for the adrenaline of my nightmares to subside. My hand dipped lower, knowing there was only one way to make those memories fade, and I wasn’t proud of that fact. I gripped my dick, squeezing hard as my hand slid slowly up and down my length. I rested my forehead against the damp sandstone tile and closed my eyes, hoping I could find some sort of release.

The song ended, and waiting for the next to start was quickly killing my mood. Nine Inch Nails faded in through the speakers that were embedded above the shower stall, and I began to stroke myself faster as I pictured small, perky tits with light-pink pebbled nipples. I licked my lips as I focused on the faceless vision, my eyes traveling down a tight stomach while my fingers slipped over my head and back against the base of my cock. I panted, water droplets falling from my lips as I imagined it was swollen pink lips wrapped around me, sucking as my fist gripped her hair, tiny moans in the back of her throat vibrating and nearly sending me over the edge as I pushed her closer, touching the back of her throat with my dick.

“Ah…” I groaned over the music. I imagined her moaning my name, begging for me to come in her pretty little mouth.

“Colin?” Annie’s voice came from inside my room.

“Fuck,” I growled, but I was too close to be able to stop myself as my stomach muscles tightened.

“Colin?” she called again as she got closer, and it sent me over the edge.

“Fuck, Annie,” I panted as I came, struggling to catch my breath as I stared at her emerald eyes through the fogged glass door. She didn’t move for a moment, her lips parted in complete shock and breathing as erratically as me.